


First Love, Like Fresh Snow

by Jess_B_Fossil



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: A little bit of angst, First Love, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Modern AU, Snow, Winter, boys falling in love, hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25078624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jess_B_Fossil/pseuds/Jess_B_Fossil
Summary: Sylvain is ten years old when he first meets Felix, his cheeks covered in tears as he cries. It's a friendship forged in ski slopes and vacation time, transcending the years. Sylvain is nearly twenty-four when Felix sweeps into the lodge, bundled up to his nose, cheeks ruddy with the cold, and Sylvain finds him to be beautiful; that year, he realizes that he loves him.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 7
Kudos: 154





	First Love, Like Fresh Snow

**Author's Note:**

> I took part in the Sylvix Remix, and had a blast writing a piece inspired by Shado's art for Felix and Sylvain holding hands in the snow, which can be found [here! ](https://twitter.com/shadoephax/status/1212044136435474434/photo/)
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Sylvain is used to the cold. 

Bitter, biting winds that blow through the north; powdery snowdrifts that just pile on and on and on. Tourists that insist it’s still safe to ski, even when there are avalanche watches plastered all over the news. 

Really, the amount of people that Sylvain has had to physically hold back from the ski rental station is staggering. 

But then again, if his father wasn’t a greedy, money mongering whore, then he wouldn’t have to in the first place.

It’s neck deep in November. Northern Faerghus is known for snow capped mountains and the best ski slopes. The Gautier Lodge is no exception. They pride themselves on being the oldest, most traditional lodge around, one that bleeds high-class and wealth. They go  _ out  _ of their way to be ponderous and stodgy, because they’re known for what is expected and they haven’t changed in centuries.

Sylvain’s been over it for years. 

Still, there’s an upside. November might bring shitty tourists and nasty storms, but it also brings Felix. His childhood friend, nothing but sarcastic wit and cutting words and deep circles cut heavily under his eyes. Never the type to shy away from being blunt. 

It’s the only time of the year that they get to see each other. Felix lives to the south in Fraldarius, which is still cold, but unlike Gautier, it’s livable. At least, that’s what Sylvain likes to assume. He’s never been. And like Sylvain, he’s got a name that means something even if he doesn’t want it to. It’s only a matter of time. 

Every year, rain or shine, Felix’s family finds times to hit the slopes.

Felix is the only person who’s put up with Sylvain’s shitty, self-destructive tendencies. Actually, scratch that, he doesn’t put up with him; Felix will give him biting words, but he’ll never fault him for it either. A gentle balance of tough love. 

Sylvain’s gotten worse over the years and Felix persists at being the only thing stable in his life. But video calls and voice chats mean nothing, when it comes to the one solid week that they can share a bottle liquor by the fire, swapping dumb stories and just  _ enjoying _ each other. 

Felix is familiar. Felix is warm. Felix is his closest, only friend. 

This year, Felix whirls into the lodge covered head to toe in scarves and outerwear. Sylvain’s already bouncing on his toes behind the bar, vibrating with excitement at the sight of him. Felix heads straight for the lounge, not bothering to even check in with the concierge. 

He settles onto a stool and unwraps the heavy scarf around his face. Sylvain’s already got a gin and tonic in the shaker, pouring it out into a stout glass. When he turns to Felix though, things are decidedly different than usual. 

Felix’s cheeks are pink from the bitter cold and he rubs at his nose. His hair is tied up into a messy ponytail that’s been mussed by a woolen cap and he’s already thrown a bitter jab at the woman next to him to  _ leave him the hell alone _ . 

Sylvain falters because Felix is beautiful, and it’s the first time that he’s ever thought that. 

He’s not sure what bothers him more-- that the thought came so naturally, or that he didn’t even mind. Sylvain’s always had an incredibly complicated view about relationships. The idea Felix seems to crest right over that though, and the idea of entertaining something with him seems… nice.

Sylvain throws the thought out immediately. Part of the reason that he and Felix get along so well, is that they are incredibly solitary creatures. Sylvain king-of-sort-of hates women (it’s complicated) and Felix just hates people in general. Match made in heaven.

“Sylvain, you’re staring,” Felix finally says in that fondly acerbic tone of his. “Has it been so long that you’ve forgotten my face?”

Clearly. Maybe. Felix definitely doesn’t look the same as the last time that he saw him. Have his cheekbones always been so fine? His eyebrows always so perfectly arched? Even the way that his hair fall sinto his face as Felix brushes his bangs behind an ear. 

Sylvain swallows thickly and finishes pouring out the drink.  _ Not good, not good, not good. _ “Yeah, sorry about that. It’s just that you missed a bit of snot hanging from your nose.”

Felix scowls, knowing that Sylvain’s just teasing. He shoots him a nasty gesture in return. 

And like that, things are back to normal, Sylvain sliding Felix’s drink across the bar. “The old man coming in, or not?” he asks. 

“I came alone this year,” Felix says. 

That’s a surprise. Sylvain’s mouth opens to say something, but Felix throws up a hand. “Really, it’s not a big deal. I just… I needed time away from home. I missed your dumb face.”

At that, Sylvain laughs. “Yeah well, someone’s got to put up with you.”

Felix is quiet for a long moment, lips quirked into an odd little smile that doesn’t actually look happy. “Yeah,” Felix says. 

Awkwardness bleeds back into Sylvain and he rubs the back of his head. “I’m on shift for the next hour or so, but as soon as I’m done, let’s grab a drink by the fire, okay?”

Felix holds up his drink in a salute, before taking a long sip. 

####

Sylvain is ten years old when he first meets Felix. 

Ten is old enough to help at the ski rental counter, but not old enough to be left to your own devices. Sylvain’s sitting on a stool, hard oak wood digging into his butt. It’s a slow morning; too early for people to want to get out on the slopes. 

Miklan stands next to him, chin cradled by his palm. “This shit’s dumb,” he murmurs.

Sylvain hisses at the bad word, but his brother just rolls his eyes. “What’re going to do? Tell dad?” He scoffs. “I dare you.”

He only dares because he knows that Sylvain won’t. They both avoid their father like the plague. 

Finally, a family comes to rent skis. An older man, with a thin and wispy moustache, dark hair hanging limply around his face. An older boy about Miklan’s age, wide smile plastered across his face, hair cropped close around his ears. And then a young boy, younger than Sylvain, his cheeks covered in tears as he cries. 

“Glenn, I dun wanna…” he sniffles. 

The older boy nudges him. “You’ll have fun!”

But the boy just bursts into a fit of sobbing. Their father drags a tired hand down his face, like he doesn’t know what to do. Glenn kneels before the boy, grasping at his shoulders. 

“Okay,” he says. “Okay, I’ll stay here with you. Mom and Dad can go by themselves.”

“If you want to ski, I’ll stay with him.” 

Everyone turns to Sylvain. He’s surprised at himself; he’d blurted the words without much thought. He rubs at the back of his head, something that he does when he’s nervous. “I mean, I don’t like skiing either, and I’m useless behind this counter so… I could take him to get hot chocolate or something? Give him the true lodge experience? We won’t leave the cafe, I promise!”

Miklan’s never really gotten along with Sylvain, but to his surprise he jumps in. “Premium experience, at the behest of the Gautier's themselves,” he says. 

Glenn stands straight and their father considers it for a moment, before saying, “You must be Marcus’ sons then.” Both Miklan and Sylvain nod. “Alright then, I’ll leave Felix in your care. Glenn?”

Sylvain drops from the stool and rounds the rental counter. The boy is still sniffling, rubbing at his red and ruddy face. “Hey, Felix right? I’m Sylvain,” he tells him. “Wanna go get some hot chocolate?”

Felix’s lower lip wobbles just the tiniest bit, but then he nods. Sylvain holds out his hand, and Felix takes it in his little mittened one before Sylvain moves to drag him off to the cafe. 

Felix would open up later and say that it’s the best hot chocolate that he’s ever had. 

####

The Fraldarius’ come back every year, and Sylvain and Felix become attached at the hip. 

Sylvain’s father is pleased that he’s gained such a friendship with the youngest son of the Duke of Fraldarius, citing that it would be a powerful business connection later on in life. He drones on and on about taking care of their whims while they’re on vacation, but Sylvain barely listens. He’s far too excited to just spend time with Felix. 

Sylvain’s grown up sequestered in a remote location and Felix is like fresh air. 

Over the years they ease into a powerful friendship. Neither of them like to ski, so they stay at the lodge and share hot chocolate. They steal pastries from the kitchen with Cook isn’t looking. One year, Sylvain gets in trouble for hooking up his N64 to the television in the main lounge, but it’s  _ so _ worth kicking Felix’s ass in Mario Kart. 

Even if Felix cries afterwards. Felix always cries, even by the time he’s like eleven. It’d be a lie to claim that it wasn’t adorable. 

The year the Felix turns fourteen and Sylvain sixteen, things are different. 

Sylvain and Felix call each other once while, and send the odd email, but Felix has been uncharacteristically quiet that year, responding in short little quips that aren’t remotely like the friend that Sylvain knows. 

Sylvain’s mopping melted snow off of the lobby tiles when Felix and his parents sweep into the lodge. His cheeks red and ruddy due to the snowstorm outside. Sylvain waits for Glenn to follow, so he can give him a hug and a clap on the back, but he never does. 

Rodrigue and his wife head to the concierge, and Felix beelines for Sylvain. 

He stops short of him, hands out like he wants to pull Sylvain in for a hug, but hesitates. Felix hasn’t ever been the type to hug, so it’s a weird thing to see. Finally, he reaches out, gloved hands curling into Sylvain’s sleeve as he yanks him closer. Felix lets his head fall forehead, pressing against Sylvain’s chest, hair just grazing the bottom of his chin. 

“He’s dead,” Felix says. “Glenn. Dumb bastard went and left me behind.”

Felix isn’t crying; instead he looks angry, fingers tight around the fabric of Sylvain’s shirt as he slowly shakes with rage.

“Felix, how long have you bottled this up?”

“Shut up, Sylvain,” he snaps. “I don’t want to-- Look, just let me have this moment, okay? I’m tired of thinking about it. Distract me.”

Sylvain pulls him closer, arms wrapping around him, a hand pressed into Felix’s hair. They stand there for a long time. 

Later that night, Sylvain does exactly as Felix requests. He distracts him by stealing a bottle of liquor from the bar; the shit-tier whiskey that they keep underneath the counter. They drink it in his room in front of a low fire burning in his fireplace. Sylvain’s father is too busy to ever notice that it’s gone. 

Or the next bottle. 

Or the next. 

####

When Sylvain turns eighteen, his father starts to shove women at him. Miklan had long fucked off from home, and it wasn’t until Sylvain was an adult that’d he’d learned why. Miklan wasn’t really of the  _ female persuasion _ , so it was. Their father didn’t take it well, so he’d packed a bag and hit the road. Miklan never said goodbye. 

Sylvain’s now the only boy left in the family, so that means marrying well and having a cute kid, and carrying on the legacy of the Gautier Ski Lodge. Too bad Sylvain hates skiing. And the lodge. 

And women. 

Except how they feel, the softness of their curves under his hands. Sylvain likes that, because it’s something that he can get lost in, it’s something that helps him forget. With his good looks, it’s uncomplicated. He wooes a woman and she gives in, and then she leaves never to be seen again, because Sylvain’s nothing but the cute concierge she met while on vacation. 

When Sylvain turns twenty, Felix is eighteen. Sylvain flirts and winks endlessly for what seems like the umpteenth year, and doesn’t understand why Felix is tired of his demeanor. They spend their days together awkwardly shuffling about one another, like they’re there but they aren’t. Sylvain’s nights are spent as usual, wooing his current flavor of the day, and for the first time, Felix is angry. Sylvain doesn’t get why. 

Not even when Felix smacks him hard across the face at the end of his trip.

“You’re  _ destroying  _ yourself,” Felix says to him. “I’m tired of watching it.” Then he sighs tiredly, dragging his hand across his face. “I’ve put my number into that damn phone of yours, and if you ever find a way to pull your head from between someone’s legs, I’ll listen. Until then, don’t bother. I’m angry Sylvain, I am so angry at you, because you are worth so much more than this.”

People stare at them as they watch the fight in the middle of the lobby, but Felix is the only thing that Sylvain can even  _ think _ of. 

“I’ve been there,” Felix says. “I’ve been there, Sylvain. I get it, but you  _ have _ to pull yourself together.”

For months, Sylvain doesn’t get it. 

One night, he opens his phone. He’s got a new follower on instagram and is shocked to see that it’s Miklan. He’s curious enough to take a peek. Pictures of his brother, arm slung around another man in a way that is definitely not casual. 

Something is wrong, because Miklan is smiling. Miklan never smiles. 

It’s in that moment, that Sylvain realizes that his brother had never been the problem, and neither were the women. Miklan rose above his self-loathing and got the fuck out of dodge. He looks  _ happy. _

And if he can manage, then maybe Sylvain can too. 

It’s nearly May when he finally calls Felix, and when Felix picks up, Sylvain lets out a relieved sigh. 

“I’m sorry,” is all he says. And then he sobs. And then he cries. 

Felix does exactly what he’d promised to do. He listens. 

####

So, back to the present. 

Sylvain is nearly twenty-four when Felix sweeps into the lodge that year, bundled up to his nose, cheeks ruddy with the cold, and Sylvain finds him to be beautiful. 

“You know, I’m not quite convinced that my father even liked skiing,” Felix tells him over his drink. “I think it was more for the show than anything. The Fraldarius family vacations at only the most prestigious of places. I fucking hate that kind of high society bullshit.” The bar’s calmed down and people have started turning in for bed. Sylvain’s only customer is Felix, so he sits on stool opposite him. 

“And you still came?” Sylvain asks. “It’s not like you ski either.”

“No, but there’s other things worth the visit,” Felix says smoothly, his finger circling around the rim of his glass. 

Sylvain’s throat is suddenly very dry and he realizes with a painstaking shot to the heart, that he loves Felix. Not in a  _ yeah, you’re my favorite bro  _ kind of way. That he probably has for a long time. Seeing Felix is the only thing that he looks forward to every year. Felix is the only person who’s patient with him, who gets him, who understands him. 

Who told him to get his head out of his ass when Sylvain was on a downward spiral and going nowhere quick. 

Sylvain’s father will kill him, because that would make him two-and-oh as far as his children were concerned. 

And Marcus Gautier is  _ very  _ concerned. 

It’s terrible timing, Sylvain thinks. He’s half-hanging off of the bar stool, watching Felix sip at his drink. He’s tired and dirty and grimy after a full day of working the bar. 

“Sylvain, you’re staring again,” Felix says. There’s a beat and then, “Are you okay?”

Sylvain doesn’t really know what to do. 

If Felix were a woman, he’d lean over, lips near his ear and whisper warm words with the intent to fluster. Felix isn’t and he’d probably stab Sylvain with a steak knife just for trying. Sylvain decides to do nothing, and it’s so out of character that he wonders if this entire thing has just been a dream from the moment that Felix walked in through the front door.

“I’m fine,” Sylvain finally says. Felix gives him an odd look, like he doesn't quite believe him. “Really Felix,” he says quieter. “I think I’m okay.” 

Sylvain’s surprised by how easily he says it. For the first time in years, it’s like a fog has lifted and he can finally see. When he says he’s okay, it’s not the empty platitude that he’s so used to tumbling off of his tongue. 

It feels like he actually means it. 

####

Halfway through the week, they’re sharing drinks by the lobby fireplace.

“So,  _ Duke _ Fraldarius--”

“I regret telling you that,” Felix immediately cuts in. It’s taken days for Felix to finally admit real reason why his father hadn’t come. Rodrigue had apparently, passed away.

“I was only going to ask how work has been.” Sylvain isn’t sure what it was that a Duke exactly  _ did,  _ let alone in the wake of losing their father, but Felix seems more exhausted than Sylvain ever seen him before. And that includes Felix picking his sorry ass off the ground, after an overnight bender.

Felix snorts, swirling his small glass of whiskey. He doesn’t drink a lot, Sylvain knows, and it’s probably the only drink that he’ll have. “Tired. Exhausting. All I ever do is talk to people that I don’t want to see and make decisions that will never help anyone.”

“Surely  _ some _ are helped--”

“It’s bureaucratic bullshit,” Felix cuts in.

“Why do it then? You’ve never been the type to do what’s expected of you.” The moment that he says it though, Sylvain knows exactly why.  _ Glenn _ . Felix has always had a complicated relationship with his family, but everything surrounding his brother was the most complicated of all. The duchy would have passed the Glenn, were he still alive.

“I almost didn’t,” Felix says in quiet, uncharacteristic honesty. It’s not that Felix isn’t honest, he’s brutally so-- just never about himself. “I almost left. Why should I have to clean up my father’s messes?”

There’s so much more there than what Felix is telling him, but Sylvain doesn’t press the issue. Felix finishes off his drink with a flourish. “They complain that I’m rude,” he says. “Other lords and whatnot. They don’t like my  _ awful disposition.” _

Sylvain laughs at that. “That’s  _ why _ I love you.” The words slip before Sylvain can stop them and he freezes. Felix does too, giving him this odd, deer-in-the-headlights sort of look. Sylvain swallows. “I mean, that’s what I love  _ about _ you.”

“I’m--” Felix waves his glass around. “I’m going to need another drink.”

Felix doesn’t sound angry though. He’s pink in the cheeks, looking anywhere but at Sylvain’s face and Sylvain wonders if he’s flustered. “I, um-- Yeah, okay.” Sylvain uncorks the whiskey bottle to top him off. 

They’re silent for a few moments. Felix sips at his new drink and Sylvain stares into the fire. It’s not bad or even awkward. It’s nice and effortless, and Sylvain wonders if this is what loving a person is supposed to be like, because if it is, he can see the appeal. 

It’s complicated, but not uncomfortable. He feels the drive to make it work. It’s been a long time since he’s wanted to do anything.

Finally, Felix says, “Sylvain.” Sylvain looks to him, chin lifting from where it rests in his hand. “Thanks.”

“What for?” 

“Everything.” 

Sylvain is pretty sure that Felix doesn’t mean  _ just in that moment. _ Sylvain’s lips quirk into a small, genuine smile. “Of course.”

####

Make it’s the alcohol that’s running through him, or maybe Sylvain is just stupid. He’s not drunk, he’s not even tipsy, so it’s unfair to think that the feeling clawing its way through his chest, is anything but his own. So-- stupid and maybe, drunk on love.  _ Goddess, _ Sylvain is a sap. 

“Shit, it’s cold out here,” Sylvain whines. There’s a second-floor lounge that Sylvain opens up during the warmer season, and they’re alone on the balcony, bearing the frigid and bitter weather. Sylvain’s not sure why he agreed to follow Felix out there, but he’d follow him anywhere if he were to be honest. 

He always has, he’s just never realized it. 

Felix huffs, breath puffing out in front of him. He’s thrown on a handsome coat over his dark turtleneck, and donned his gloves again. “You should have put on a jacket,” Felix says to him, mouth quirked up in amusement. 

Sylvain looks down at his yellow sweater. “Hey, at least I grabbed a scarf.”

“Won’t do you much good.”

“Then why are we out here again?”

“To look at that.” Felix gestures to the sky. It’s deep in midwinter and this far north, you can see the rainbow lights. Sylvain’s so used to them that he barely notices them anymore. “It’s such a different sight than I’m used to,” Felix continued. “I always hated coming here, but I always loved them.” There’s a pause. “And seeing you.”

Sylvain realizes that it’s now or never, because if he doesn’t say something in that exact moment, he’s afraid that he never will. He’ll chicken out and then Felix will slip away, because Sylvain’s  _ never _ been good at making decisions for himself.

“Felix, I love you,” he says, and Sylvain can practically feel his face burning red in embarrassment, because Felix is about too--

“I know. That’s what you said earlier.”

Felix replies in a way that Sylvain definitely does not expect. Sylvain’s mouth gapes open like a fish, and he just stares at him. Felix doesn’t look angry, or annoyed, or even surprised. In fact, he doesn’t look  _ remotely _ surprised.

“Um, Fe--”

“Are you still cold?” Felix asks coolly. 

Sylvain blinks. “I mean, yeah, it’s like twenty below out here.”

Felix pulls the glove off of his left hand. “Give me your hand.”

“Why…?”

“Do you want to hold my hand or not?”

Yes,  _ Goddess above, _ Sylvain wants to hold his hand. He’s wanted to for the entire week, it seems. It’s it’s a dumb thing maybe, and even childish, but Sylvain’s always been prone to overthinking things--

“I’m not going to bite,” Felix says softly. “Not this time at least.”

Sylvain reaches out and takes his hand in his frozen palm, and Felix laces their frozen fingers together. Sylvain stares like he’s dreaming, because Felix smiles at him. It’s such a rare expression that Sylvain wants to bottle it up to keep forever.

“Question,” Felix says. “Why do you think that I came back here, even though I have no reason to?”

“My winning personality, right?” Sylvain then laughs nervously, because he’s been put on the spot and when that happens, he acts  _ dumb. _ And judging by Felix’s soft glare, it’s not the correct reaction. “Ah, sorry, I just--”

“I don’t know why it’s always been you,” Felix says. “You’re annoying and aggravating, and you are most self-piteous person that I’ve ever met. You hide behind this wall of nice words and platitudes, when you’re really just drowning inside. Most people wouldn’t touch you with a ten-in-a-half foot pole, unless it was a one-time thing and they’d never see you again. You’re an absolute dumpster fire, of a mess.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“But, you’re kind,” Felix continues. “Also dumb.  _ Goddess _ , you’re stupid, but you’ve always been kind, even if you don’t always mean it.”

“I’ve always meant it with you, Fe,” Sylvain says. 

At that, Felix smiles again before giving him a knowing look. “Yeah, it’s always been different with me.”

Oh.  _ Oh. _ “I--  _ wait _ ,” Sylvain starts. 

“Do you know how pathetic it is, when a man can tell that you love him  _ before  _ you do?”

Suddenly, Sylvain’s on the defensive. “That would imply that you’ve been looking.”

“Of course I have, Sylvain. I’ve always been looking, and for a hell of a lot longer than you.”

“Oh.” 

_ “‘Oh,’  _ he says.” Felix shakes his head incredulously. 

Sylvain remembers something in that moment, very vividly. “You slapped me once,” Sylvain murmurs. “You-- Oh.” No wonder Felix had hated watching a stream of women leave his room. No wonder he had told him to pull himself together; that he was worth more. 

“Again with the  _ oh. _ Can’t you say anything more useful than that?”

“Like what?” 

Felix lets go of his hand and turns around, leaning back against the railing. He levels Sylvain with this  _ look _ and Sylvain understands immediately. Sylvain steps closer slowly, pressing a hand against Felix’s waist gently. 

“Felix, I love you,” Sylvain says simply. There’s no soft, wooing tone, or carefully placed mannerisms. Just Sylvain’s hand on Felix’s hip, thumbing along the bone there as he says it honestly. 

Felix doesn’t say it back, but he doesn’t need to, because Sylvain knows, and maybe he’s always known, because there’s  _ no _ way a normal person would have ever put up with his bullshit for as long as this man has. Felix grabs his hand again, lacing their fingers together once more, and his gloved one raises to curl into the front of Sylvain’s sweater. 

Felix pulls at it slightly and Sylvain bends forwards, and Felix says, “Are you going to kiss me, or what?”

Sylvain smiles wide and unabashedly across his face, before he leans down. 

**Author's Note:**

> Have questions? A burning need for answers? Have a story idea? Just want to talk? Don't forget to check out my [Tumblr](https://missmarquin.tumblr.com/), and drop an ask! 
> 
> Also, follow me on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/HornyBaldFossil)


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